“let me in!” you yell, banging on the door. it’s four am, and steve finally answers in his underwear. his eyes widen when he sees all the blood. you’re holding up your arm. “beer bottle.” you say flatly. there’s glass shards in the cuts in your arm. he pulls you inside. “jesus christ, who did this?” he asks. but he knows. “stay here.” he orders when he sits you on the edge of his bathtub. he disappears and returns later with a first aid kit and pants on.